


Into the Wine Cellar

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't add to Goodreads, Don't copy to another site, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lock Down Fest, M/M, Spiders, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Harry should know better than to touch random objects that do not belong to him. Getting stuck in a cellar with Malfoy, of all people, leads to an interesting development.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 503
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Into the Wine Cellar

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [EvAEleanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor) for being my beta for this story!  
> \------------------  
>  _Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea behind this fic. The rest belongs to J.K.Rowling._

“This is your fault!”

“Why _my_ fault? If you weren’t such a pointy git, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Did I force you to grab that Portkey? Did I hold your hand and whisk you away? No. It was all _you_ , Scarhead!”

“Shut up, Malfoy!”

“You saw something shiny and couldn’t wait to get your grubby hands on it!”

“I thought it was mine!”

“Well, it wasn’t, you utter imbecile. Ever heard of detection charms?”

Harry huffed and crossed his arms, but changed his mind when he nearly lost his balance. He climbed down from the barrel he was sitting on, still glaring at Malfoy, who was busy trying to call random House Elves. 

Now was not the time to forget where they were. They needed to focus and work together to find a solution. Because they were stuck. In a wine cellar. There was a single torch on the wall, most likely enchanted to burn when someone was near, and its light cast sinister shadows all around them. Malfoy twisted the doorknob and tried to push the door before kicking it with a frown and turning around to face Harry. He jerked his chin at him. “Now would be the perfect time to show off your brilliant magical talent, Potty.”

Why were Harry’s cheeks burning? He clenched his fist. “I don’t have my wand.”

“You what?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, taking in the Slytherin’s features. He looked quite good under the flickering light of the torch. Not that Harry would ever admit it. It must have been the hair, no doubt. It was the best-looking hair in the entire school, after all. That was a fact. Nothing wrong with realising that part. “It’s under my pillow,” he replied, all the while wondering why he’d left it there.

“Why?!”

“I don’t know! Where’s yours?”

Malfoy sniffed, nose in the air, and scratched his left arm, muttering under his breath. “Pansy has it.”

Groaning, Harry sat down on the floor, spotting two spiders fleeing towards the safety of the shadows. He checked the label on the nearest bottle of wine, which looked very old, and had to bite back a laugh. _Malfoy Apothecary_. Of course.

“Are you planning on helping, or is this a joke to you?” Malfoy drawled. A muscle was twitching in his jaw.

Harry shrugged. “This place seems to belong to you, so, I’ll let you figure things out.”

“Obviously, it’s mine! Do you think Mother would send me a Portkey to some sort of backwater Muggle dwelling?”

“Why a _wine cellar_?”

“Everywhere else is warded. This place has a different type of security system, which means the Elves can’t hear us. I may also have mentioned the need to bring a bottle to Professor Flitwick, but Mother couldn’t use an owl for this.”

Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses (which could use a cleaning charm or two). “You’re bribing a teacher?”

“Merlin, must you? How do you sleep at night, constantly wondering if I’m up to something, I cannot fathom it.” Malfoy gathered up his robes and sat with a disgusted expression. When Harry smirked, Malfoy’s haughtiness came back. “If you must know, Professor Flitwick has been helpful and welcoming to me this year, and he’s the only teacher who defends me. Not that it matters to you, but I think offering me a bracelet with a permanent shield charm deserves a reward.” His eyes bore into Harry’s, who ducked his head. “I gather it won’t be long before the Weasel tells someone about the Portkey. Mother will come for us.”

“Great.” Harry took a bottle and read the pompous description at the back, then put it back on the rack. He fought against the growing unease that threatened to overwhelm him each time Malfoy’s treatment at the hand of their schoolmates was mentioned. Harry was tired of fighting and hoped others would have the decency to leave the Slytherin alone, but Malfoy was like a magnet for everyone’s anger. Not necessarily unjustified, true, but Harry wished everyone would simply ignore him instead.

With everything they’d both been through, Harry didn’t mind Malfoy anymore. Sharing a dorm with him and being the only one willing to talk to him at first had changed things. Malfoy was still quick to anger, prickly and snarky, but he was also funny. Harry believed he’d been truthful about his change of heart. He’d also apologised to Hermione and often worked on assignments with her — to Ron’s dismay. That didn’t mean Harry and Malfoy didn’t argue. In fact, they might be fighting even more now, but it was different. Ron called it banter, and Harry had learned about an ongoing betting pool with stakes ranging from murder to marriage. Thinking back on it, Harry scoffed. Marriage. Right. Harry blamed Seamus’ drunken ramblings. Thanks to him, news of his sexual orientation had spread like wildfire through the entire school, leading students to wonder about the nature of the tension between Harry and Malfoy. A _Daily Prophet_ article even claimed they’d been in a secret relationship for years. 

“Look at the bright side: we can drink.”

Malfoy shifted and eyed him, expression neutral. “I expect payment for every bottle you open, touch, or smash in your drunken stupor.”

“Fair.” He snatched the bottle he’d previously taken, and stopped, realising the problem. “Bollocks. We don’t have a corkscrew.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, and they sat together in silence. Harry stared at the ceiling, counting the cobwebs, restlessness slowly settling in. His stomach let out a loud complaint sometime later, so Harry guessed it was past dinner, and closed his eyes for a quick nap. If he could sleep, he wouldn’t be bored to tears.

He must have dozed off because he was groggy, and his legs and arse were numb. He wondered if he should just go back to sleep, but he suddenly felt something in his hair. He thought it was a spider, but before he could open his eyes and move his hand to swat it away, he realised it was a hand. Malfoy was touching his hair. Should he stop him? It felt nice. He was surrounded by the scent of Malfoy’s expensive shampoo. The one that lingered in the shower long after the Slytherin was done getting ready in the morning. The one that Harry could smell in Potions class when Slughorn made them brew Amortentia.

Shit. Had Harry been so blind that he hadn’t recognised it at this time?

The hand lingered, featherlike, in his unruly curls, and Harry stopped pretending to sleep. As soon as he opened his eyes, Malfoy hissed and scooted backwards, cradling his hand as if he’d just been burned. Grey eyes blazed angrily, and his skin flushed. 

Harry had never been good at feelings, or at approaching someone he liked. Every fibre of his being screamed that it was now or never, and his brain was in full Gryffindor mode when he said, “Why have you stopped?”

The strangled noise he received in return made his heart rate speed up — just as much as their fights did. Maybe everyone else was right about the tension after all. But still. It was Malfoy. 

Malfoy, whose presence always sent a thrill of _something_ down Harry’s spine. Who could read a book for six hours without moving a muscle. Who only drank high-quality Earl Grey and called anyone who preferred teabags over loose leaf “heathens”. Malfoy, who ate sweets all day long, was brilliant at Quidditch, always dressed like a prince and walked like a king. Who cut Harry’s potions ingredients properly under the pretence of refusing to get anything but an ‘O’, but not necessarily realising that Harry wasn’t even his partner for that lesson - well, Malfoy.

Sometimes, after Harry woke up screaming, Malfoy would bring him a cup of hot chocolate and go back to sleep without a word. Harry would do the same. In the morning, they’d fight again. But _somehow_ Scarhead sounded different in Malfoy’s mouth.

“Malfoy, I— I don’t mind.” Harry took a deep breath and looked at him. “It was nice.”

Disdain flickered on Malfoy’s face. “What did you bet on? Trying to win, Potter?”

“I have nothing to do with this stupid bet.” He stood up, a bit unsteady, and the other boy followed, disdain replaced by confusion. “I just—” Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Never mind, I guess having unmanageable hair is just interesting to you.”

“It’s silky.” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up as Malfoy did his best to avoid looking at him. “Sorry?”

“I like your hair, Potty, and I’ll Obliviate you as soon as we get back to Hogwarts.”

“I thought you hated it,” Harry replied, lips stretching into a small smile.

“Well, you were wrong. Can we stop talking about this? You caught me being a creep, rejoice!”

“Malfoy.” Harry stepped closer and squeezed his upper arm. “I don’t mind. Can I?” He raised his hand, and when Malfoy nodded, he ran his fingers through soft, thick white-blond strands. Malfoy was now staring at him, a glimmer in his eyes and lips parted, and Harry couldn’t help himself. He pulled him closer, nose and forehead touching, still caressing his hair and trying to get his breathing under control. “Okay?”

Another quick nod. Eyes shut, Harry kissed him, a soft pressure that made Malfoy whimper and clutch at Harry’s shirt. Harry opened his mouth and shivered as Malfoy gave a tentative lick, melting when the kiss deepened. He held Malfoy impossibly close, one hand gripping his hair and the other travelling down his back. Malfoy’s hands were on his waist, then a hot palm pressed against his chest and a leg wormed its way between Harry’s thighs. He gasped, broke the kiss and his breath hitched. Malfoy looked incredible. Spit-slick lips, darkened eyes, hair sticking out in odd directions. Harry wanted to kiss him again, to drown in his scent and taste, and he was about to when Malfoy’s hand sneaked into his trousers.

“Do you want this, Potter?”

Harry licked his lips. “I guess?” Fingers played with the waistband of his underwear, and Harry felt his cock jerk. “What’s on your mind?”

“As long as this stays between us, Golden Boy, I want to suck you off.”

What came out of Harry’s throat was an odd wheezing breath and he nodded. “Yeah, that—that sounds good.” 

Malfoy dropped to his knees, undid his tie, and unzipped Harry’s trousers, tugging his pants down and pulling his cock out. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes and his usual smirk now provoked brand new sensations deep into Harry’s guts. Malfoy pressed an open-mouthed kiss on his pelvis, hot breath tickling his skin, then pulled and twisted his fist around him. Harry couldn’t stop staring, awed, and almost dizzy with want. 

Malfoy’s tongue ran up and down his shaft and flattened against the head. Harry groaned, using the stacked barrels behind Malfoy to ground himself. He bucked his hips forward when Malfoy took the tip into his mouth and tongued his slit, something Harry never thought he’d enjoy so much. Then he took him in deeper, sucking and palming himself through his robes, his other hand still wrapped around Harry’s cock and squeezing. The Gryffindor’s toes curled in his shoes, a litany of swear words falling past his lips. He couldn’t help but tug at Malfoy’s hair, but now it was more so he could keep his head in place while he struggled not to fuck his mouth. His grip on the barrels tightened as the pressure built in his balls. Malfoy relaxed his jaw, and Harry slid in deeper until the other boy’s nose was buried in his pubic hair. It almost sent Harry over the edge. Just in time, Malfoy pulled away, giving one of his infuriating smirks before he, once again, pushed his tongue into Harry’s slit for the briefest of moments.

“Do you want to come?”

Harry moaned, low and rough. “Please.”

“Then go ahead.” Malfoy swallowed him whole again. The warmth of his mouth sent delicious sparks through Harry’s cock. It took only one moan from Malfoy before Harry’s legs almost gave out under him as he emptied himself down his throat.

Harry didn’t remember ever feeling so giddy. He kissed Malfoy, not minding his own taste much, and nibbled on his lower lip. “Can I return the favour?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” A kiss. “Potty.”

“Shut up. _May_ I?”

Malfoy parted the folds of his robes, and Harry blinked. “Did you come just from blowing me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I have two hands.”

“Git.”

Harry had so many questions. What would they do now? Were they a thing? If not, would they ever do that again? He wanted to suck Malfoy’s cock, was hungry for it in a way that was alien to him. He wanted to undo him, to make him lose his composure. He tucked himself back into his pants before his cock could show its renewed interest.

He leaned forward, hesitant, and kissed him again. Malfoy let him, stroking his tongue slowly, far from their earlier frenzy.

And that was when the door opened with a loud creak. The boys jumped apart, and Harry groaned internally at the sight of Narcissa Malfoy’s unimpressed frown. It vanished when she looked at her son.

“Draco darling, please explain why the Headmistress Flooed me, fully believing you’ve kidnapped Harry Potter.”

Malfoy stood up. “The Portkey activated—”

“Yes, I can see that, but why did you stay in here? You’ve been gone from Hogwarts for hours.”

“Hello Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said, cheeks burning in embarrassment, praying that she wouldn’t find out what they’d been up to. He cleared his throat. “The door was locked, and we didn’t have our wands.”

“Locked?” She pursed her lips, looking remarkably like a young version of McGonagall for a second. “It was open, dears.”

Malfoy made another funny noise. “What?”

“Oh, darling, don’t you remember? From the inside, you have to push until you hear it click. No wonder you got stuck in here so often when you were a child.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, laughter bubbling up in his throat, and in another Gryffindor move, laced his fingers with Malfoy’s. He made no effort to stop him, even under his mother’s gaze. 

Narcissa sighed. “I owe the Headmistress twenty Galleons. Please Floo back to school now.”

“I’m sorry, did you bet on us?” Harry hissed between his teeth when Malfoy nearly crushed his hand.

“MOTHER!”

“Have a safe trip back, boys, and I’ll see you both for Yule.”

She kissed her son’s forehead and left in a swirl of expensive fabric, and Harry glanced at Malfoy — at _Draco_ — who rolled his eyes.

“Congratulations, Potter, on getting invited to such an exclusive event. You’re now a Malfoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Today marks 1 week since I went into lockdown and I keep forgetting which day it is. Ha.


End file.
